Random weirdness for the week of Nov. 24, 2015

wormcookies
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Yeah, that’s his ad beneath this week’s rant, but we suspect few people will see as giving him undue free positive publicity when we mention Benjamin Vidmar’s latest “locally sustainable food” effort, which involved handing out cookies made from worms he used for composting last weekend. He’s the one who promoted his “treats” on Facebook with the appetizing photo to the right, so don’t knock us for unfairly portraying the real thing, which looked like regular chocolate chip cookies. As for the taste: “If I didn’t know about the worms I’d say they’re like a regular cookie” said one taste tester who admitted being a bit freaked by the concept initially. But another said “you can really taste the earthworm,” although she admitted it might be a psychological thing. One general consensus: there was a bit too much salt in them. The recipe is available at

… As we continue to mourn the large-scale loss of jobs, sometimes it’s easy to forget some of the most uniquely awesome opportunities are here. For those who massively don’t want to climb the corporate ladder, The Governor of Svalbard is seeking a caretaker for the trapper’s cabin at Austfjordnes “for the winter hunting season of 2016-2017, with a possible extension.” Applicants obviously need lots of wilderness, hunting and fishing experience, and “experience with polar regions and polar dogs is an advantage.”

About Post Author

Mark Sabbatini

I'm a professional transient living on a tiny Norwegian island next door to the North Pole, where once a week (or thereabouts) I pollute our extreme and pristine environment with paper fishwrappers decorated with seemingly random letters that would cause a thousand monkeys with a thousand typewriters to die of humiliation. Such is the wisdom one acquires after more than 25 years in the world's second-least-respected occupation, much of it roaming the seven continents in search of jazz, unrecognizable street food and escorts I f****d with by insisting they give me the platonic tours of their cities promised in their ads. But it turns out this tiny group of islands known as Svalbard is my True Love and, generous contributions from you willing, I'll keep littering until they dig my body out when my climate-change-deformed apartment collapses or they exile my penniless ass because I'm not even worthy of washing your dirty dishes.
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